


Love song to a stranger

by a_secret_scribbler



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Hotel Sex, M/M, New Year's Eve, One Night Stands, Pre-Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 09:15:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6148747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_secret_scribbler/pseuds/a_secret_scribbler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Forced to attend a New Years Eve party by his boss, Mycroft is desperate for a good reason to leave. He finds one in the guise of a brown eyed stranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love song to a stranger

31st December 2000

  
By the time he put in his expected appearance the party was in full swing, he’d already managed to bypass revellers in the foyer, actively avoiding their carousing, he put his head down and stalked towards the bar. If his superiors demanded that he be here, he might as well get a couple of drinks in him to anaesthetise himself from the effects of other people’s stupidity. He hated New Year’s Eve. He couldn’t fault the venue though, a beautifully renovated, large, Victorian building which now housed a very expensive, very exclusive members club, when he’d been invited along by his boss he knew that to refuse would be stupid, he’d been on the waiting list to join the club for almost 8 months, intolerable. He spotted his boss holding court at the end of the bar, the man looked half-cut already, but he had seen him and beckoned him over.

  
“Mycroft. I wondered where you’d got too. Have a drink.” He held up a hand and a barman appeared almost instantly, “What’s your poison lad?”

  
Mycroft winced a little at the word ‘lad’ he was 27, hardly a young man, but then again no one in his immediate surroundings looked to be under 60, so it was all relative, “A gin and tonic if you wouldn’t mind Mr. Lawson, sir,”

  
“Call me Alan, we’re not in the office now, loosen up a bit Mycroft. Though that poof’s drink won’t shift the stick from up your arse. He’ll have a Glenmorangie, make it a double.” The barman pulled down a bottle and sloshed two measures into the heavy crystal glass, “There you go. Now, let me introduce you to the rest of these reprobates. This gentlemen, is Mycroft Holmes, the wunderkind, he’ll be running the bloody government before long. Blair has his eye on him, but he’s turned him down, doesn’t like the limelight, and that, my friends, is why he’s so dangerous.”

  
“I think you’re exaggerating, Mr. Laws…Alan, I hardly think that turning down a job as a Yes Man in Tony Blair’s back office makes me dangerous…”

  
“No, but the fact that you did means you have ambitions in other directions, I suspect you don’t want to be tied to one particular party, that would be too limiting, my instincts tell me you’d be happier sitting in on a throne in a discrete office at Westminster where you could whisper into any ear you fancied. Tell me I’m wrong!”

  
“I have no ambition to rule the world, a minor position in the British Government would suit me well.” Mycroft smiled and took a sip from the glass, disliking the burn of the alcohol in his throat.

  
The men standing around all laughed at that, obviously his reputation as ruthless and ambitious proceeded him. A tall, slightly overweight man in a poorly fitting navy suit slapped him on the shoulder, almost knocking him over, “If you get bored of the politics over there you should come over to us, we’ll find you a position in the Met,” Alan threw up his hands in mock despair, “No poaching my best people Deputy Commissioner! Anyhow, he’d be a useless Bobby, doesn’t like legwork…”

  
Mycroft found himself leaning against the bar whilst the other men made him the butt of their jokes, it wasn’t unlike the common room at university, and he’d managed to build a fairly substantial wall around himself to deflect their jibes too. Eventually the conversation changed to other things, and Mycroft managed to relax a little, the whiskey may have helped, he discovered that once the initial burn was over, the smoky aftertaste and the quiet buzz was quite pleasant.

  
In one of the anterooms there was loud music playing and people dancing, he glanced over and spotted Emma from his office grinding herself against a man he didn’t recognise. He felt relief wash over him, she had been hinting that he take her out for dinner for a few weeks now and he had been deflecting her with excuses about his dog being sick, he wasn’t sure how long he could manage to drag out the same excuse before someone actually accused him of animal cruelty. The truth was that she was barking up the wrong tree, he had no interest in the fairer sex, but he wasn’t ready to out himself to the whole department yet either. If he was honest, he found himself in the awkward position of being in his late twenties and a few fucks and a fumble short of a virgin, he was too embarrassed by this to actively look for a partner, feeling that he’d be ridiculed or pitied, neither of which he would be able to bare, it was not that he lacked the knowledge, he was well read in the art of sexual pleasure and he had been known to practice, alone, with discretely bought toys, he just lacked much real experience. So he kept busy, climbed the corporate ladder, made politically astute connections, schmoozed the bosses, ate at the right restaurants, wore the right clothes, greased the right palms, and went home at night to an empty and very lonely house. Alan noticed him watching the dancing, “Go on lad, I can see you eyeing up the young women in there, you go and find yourself someone to snog at midnight, leave us old codgers to our pipes and slippers…”

  
Mycroft put down his empty glass, he made his excuses and headed towards the blaring music, he knew that the other men were watching so he waited until the last minute before taking a quick left and heading down a short corridor, unfortunately it was a dead end and only lead to the loo’s, he decided to use the facilities whilst he was there and then head out to try and hail a taxi home. The men’s loos were quiet, the only other occupant standing at a urinal, he glanced over his shoulder as Mycroft walked in and then got back to business. Mycroft was obsessively private about his ablutions, he walked over to one of the cubicles and locked himself inside, making a swift job of taking a piss. He came out and was astonished to find the man still in the same place.

  
“Fuck it!”

  
“I beg your pardon?” Mycroft said, looking over at the stranger.

  
“What? Oh just ignore me, shy bladder, can’t take a leak if there’s someone in the same room…I’ll be fine when you’ve gone.”

  
Mycroft washed his hands at the sink and then turned to the towel dispenser, it was empty, he stood, hands dripping, looking around the small room to see if there was a hand drier.

  
“For fuck’s sake, I’m desperate, can’t you get a move on?” the other man hissed.

  
“I’m sorry, there’s nothing to dry my hands on…”

  
“Here, top pocket, quick, use my handkerchief, it’s clean, and just leave will you…please.”

  
Mycroft walked over to the other man, reached around his shoulder, keeping his eyes above waist level, and pulled the pocket square out of his jacket pocket, “Thank you, I’ll just, wait outside then to return it…you’ll need it yourself…”

  
“Yes. Yes. Whatever. Just leave!”

  
Mycroft let himself out and stood a little away from the doorway waiting for the other man, after a couple of minutes he was rewarded by the man in question backing out of the doorway, hands in the air like a newly scrubbed surgeon, avoiding touching the doorknob with his dripping fingers. Mycroft hurried over to assist, thrusting the damp fabric at him. He received it with a look of relief and wiped his hands as best he could, realising that his handkerchief wasn’t going to do the best job, he hesitated, shrugged his shoulders, and wiped the rest of the dampness on the placket of his suit jacket. He grinned up at Mycroft, “Needs must, eh?”

  
“Indeed.” Mycroft answered, the suit looked fit for nothing more than to be used as a towel, it was obviously a wool/polyester mix, off the rack, at least three years old, judging by the wear on the cuff’s and turn ups, and quite frankly, a nasty shade of blue that was doing nothing to enhance the dark brown eye’s that were staring at him with a puzzled look. He quickly recovered himself, “I beg your pardon, My…my name is...Michael Holmes. Thank you for the loan of the handkerchief. I apologise for causing you any distress in there.”

  
The other man shrugged, “Nah. Its’ my fault. Brought up in a houseful of girls who were always after the bathroom when I was in there, it’s played havoc with my bladder, if anyone walks in when I’m pissing, it just puts the breaks on. It’s a bloody nightmare. Oh, sorry, Greg. Greg Lestrade.” He held out his hand and Mycroft, pausing only for a nanosecond, on realising that only minutes ago those fingers were wrapped around a cock, and all the unsanitary implications, grasped it firmly in a handshake.

  
“So are you a member here? My boss got me in, he asked me to drive him over in his car so it’s here tomorrow when he’s sober enough to drive home. He got me a drink and then fucked off to the bar to hobnob with load of civvies.” Greg said dropping the soggy handkerchief on the floor and kicking it behind a large pot plant.

  
Mycroft watched with some amusement and then answered, “No, I’m not a member, yet, my boss insisted that I join him for a drink, welcome in the New Year and all that rot. I was just about to make a swift exit, try and get a cab, but I expect that’s not going to be easy tonight.”

  
“Bloody hell mate, you’ll be stood out there all night, should have booked a hotel room. That’s what I did, said I’d drive him if he stumped up for the room, it’s just down the road, didn’t fancy the long walk home, they might still have some rooms if you fancy booking one?”

  
Mycroft tried very hard not to shudder at the thought of the quality of the hotel that that the other man would be spending the night in, “No, no, I’ll be fine. I’m sure I’ll conjure a taxi up, it’s a little way off midnight, there should still be some around.”

  
“So, you off then, or do you want another drink? It’s only 9 O’clock, still early.” Greg nodded towards the bar.

  
Mycroft peered through the crowd and noticed that Alan and his cronies were still ensconced in their corner, he realised that if he made the mistake of going back over there he would be drawn back into their conversation and that was not a very enticing prospect. “Well, as much as I’d enjoy another drink, my boss is over there talking to possibly the most boring bunch of people ever gathered together in one room, and I really would rather avoid getting dragged back into their company…”

  
“Is that your boss talking to the tall guy in the blue suit?” Greg asked, “Because if that’s who you mean, then you’re right, he’s my governor and he could talk you into a coma at twenty paces, he’s one of the good guy’s but he’s sadly lacking in social skills.”

  
“Yes, that’s him. So, you’re in the police force?”

  
“Yep. Sergeant Lestrade at your service, just got a job in homicide, hope to stay there and get promoted one day.” Greg grinned.

  
Mycroft could read all over the other man’s face, and his body language, how proud he was of his job, “I trust that I’ll not be needing you in your professional capacity then, well unless my brother continues to drive me to distraction.”

  
“You do know that now you’ve told me that, you’ll be the first person I question should he turn up dead, and you should know that just because you’ve bought me a drink doesn’t mean I’ll be able to do you any favours.”

  
“I have not bought you a drink…”

  
“Yet…” Greg smiled, “Give me a tenner, go find somewhere quiet to hide from your boss, and I’ll go and fetch us both a pint.”

  
Mycroft stood quietly, blinked rapidly for a few seconds and then withdrew a twenty pound note from his wallet, “You’ll need more than ten pounds. I spotted a lounge across from the bar, it seemed a little quieter in there, I’ll find a table, and I’d prefer a gin and tonic please, I’m not fond of beer.”

  
Mycroft found a quiet corner in the lounge, his view to the bar obscured by a well-placed potted palm, this of course meant that he too was hidden from his boss, so a result all round. A few minutes later Greg returned with a pint glass filled with lager, a long tumbler with gin, ice and a slice, and a small bottle of tonic water, he put the glasses down on the table in front of Mycroft and handed him his change, “Thirteen fucking quid! Jesus. That barman should be wearing a mask and carrying a pistol, robbing bastard…” he settled himself on the opposite chair and clinked his glass against Mycroft’s, “Still, your round,” he grinned cheekily, “when it’s my turn I’ll be on tap water. Cheers”

  
Mycroft poured the tonic into his glass and watched as the bubbles fizzed, sending the slice of lemon dancing, “So, Gregory, tell me about your new job…” Greg shrugged and pulled a face, “Must we Michael? I’d rather know something about you. From what I’ve gathered on the drive over, the bloke who you refer to as your boss has a reputation for recruiting men straight out of Uni’ and turning them into spies, got links with MI6. Is that what you are? A James Bond type?”

  
Mycroft spluttered and coughed into his glass, “Really Gregory, you do have a very active imagination, and, even if that were true, you hardly can expect me to reveal my true vocation to a stranger…”

  
“You can’t blame a man for trying. You’re too old to be fresh out of college, so I’d say you’re probably a veteran of a few missions already, probably just back from deep undercover in Russia, judging by your good looks, I’d say some Mata Hari mission, seducing Russian oligarchs wives into betraying their husbands secrets. Am I right?”

  
The smirk he received did nothing to confirm or deny his deductions, “Gregory, I am undone, you truly are a prince amongst policemen…Of course you have one thing wrong, I seduce the oligarchs themselves, women are really not my area of expertise.”

  
Now it was Greg’s turn to choke, “Really? Blimey, my gaydar is well off tonight. I spent about twenty minutes chatting the DJ up, his girlfriend wasn’t impressed and told me to sling my hook. You, Michael, I would have said straight as a dye,” he knocked his knuckles on the side of his head, “gonna have to send it in for repairs…”

  
“And you Gregory?” Mycroft asked, trailing his finger up the side of his glass, tracing a wet path through the beaded condensation.

  
“Bi. Mostly women, easier, but there have been some noticeable exceptions…”

  
“You hoped the D.J would be one of those?”

  
“Not as much as I’m hoping that you will be.” Greg said swallowing the last of his pint. “So. Michael Holmes. Do you fancy sharing a bed with me in a hotel five minutes’ walk away, or standing outside in the cold trying to flag down a cab for the next hour or so? Your choice.”

  
Mycroft looked across the table at the other man, he was sitting, his legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed, his pint glass swinging loosely from two fingers, a confident grin on his face, eyes twinkling. He was confident that Mycroft would make the right choice, and for one moment Mycroft felt like wiping that smile off his face with a rebuttal of his offer, but he really was an attractive man and it had been an age since he’d had more than his own fist for company. He swallowed the last dregs of his drink, placed the sweating glass down on a paper coaster and stood up, “Come on then. You’ve pulled,” he said over his shoulder as he strode towards the exit. He heard the other man swear and scramble to his feet before hurrying after him, slowing his pace he let Greg catch up. “Where is this flea pit then?” he asked, Greg sniggered and pointed to their left, “Come on, let’s hope it’s a double room.”

  
Five minutes later Mycroft drew up sharply, surprised by the hotel in front of him, “Hazlitts? Really?” Greg grinned, flashing his teeth, looking almost feral in the moonlight. “Yeah. Well I might have got our bookings mixed up, but the Gov’ will be half cut before he pours himself into bed tonight, so he won’t mind where he lays his head. Me, on the other hand, I’m stone cold sober, and I intend to make the most of all the facilities this place has to offer. Room service included. I’m bloody starving.”

  
The doorman let them into the richly decorated lobby, fresh flowers stood in a tall vase on the front desk, the concierge glanced at them, taking in their lack of luggage and Greg’s appalling dress sense, Mycroft stepped forward and took charge. “I believe we have a room booked under the name Lestrade.” The grim faced woman fiddled with her computer mouse and brought up that evenings bookings, “Ah yes. A superior double, one night, one occupant.” Mycroft looked down his nose, “Well, there seems to have been a mistake, as there are clearly two of us. Rectify this immediately. We will be requiring room service, I assume it is still available?”

  
The woman, sensing a worthy opponent, cowed “Of course Mr. Lestrade, I can only apologise for the mistake. The porter will show you the menu when he takes you to your room, please ring down when you have chosen. Can I order you a newspaper for the morning? Will you be taking breakfast in your room?”

  
“The Telegraph please, and yes to breakfast, though not too early, not before 9.30.”

  
“As you wish. Now please follow Jeremy, he’ll take…ah…I see you have no luggage…travelling light, very good. Gentlemen…if you would…”

  
Jeremy showed them up a wide staircase, their feet sank into the carpet as they strode silently behind him. He paused at a highly polished wooden door, struggled with the key for a few seconds, and then swung open the door, ushering them inside. The room was large, decorated in a deep oxblood red, the huge, mahogany framed half tester bed was hung with mink coloured silk drapes matching the ones at the windows. An ornate gold mirror hung on the opposite wall, reflecting them both in its polished glass.

  
“The bathroom is through there,” Jeremy said pointing to another door. “If you would like room service the menu is over on the table by the window, the kitchens close at midnight, so if you’d like to place an order please ring the front desk.”

  
“Thank you Jeremy, we’ll do that right now,” Mycroft said placing a discrete tenner into the young man’s fist, “We can take it from here.” He closed the heavy door behind the retreating man’s back. Greg let out a whistle, “Bloody hell. The Gov’ ain’t gonna be happy when he wakes up in the Ibis is he?” Mycroft laughed and picked up the brown leather bound folder laid beside a large vase of the deepest red roses. “Gregory, the steak sandwich looks good.” Greg appeared by his side and peered over his shoulder, “Yeah that should do the trick, and a bowl of chips, ask for some mayonnaise too.”

  
Whilst Mycroft placed their order, Greg explored the bathroom, there was a large claw footed bath, a separate walk in shower, and two sinks. He unscrewed the lid to the bubble bath and sniffed, it smelled expensive, woody, with a hint of citrus. Opening the mirrored cupboard above the sinks he was relieved to find two toothbrushes sealed in cellophane, and a basket containing disposable razors, shaving gel, floss and, interestingly, a selection of high end condoms and lube. “Nice one,” he said to himself.

  
Mycroft had settled himself into a comfortable chair and picked up a magazine, Greg walked over and knocked his hand with his knee, “You don’t look at all out of place here, you posh git. I feel like a cheap rent boy that you’ve picked up for the night…”

  
The other man put down the magazine and took Greg’s hand, pulling him down, until he was sitting on his lap. He ran a finger up the polyester tie, tensing himself against the shudder that threatened whenever he touched cheap, manmade fabric, his finger stopped under Greg’s chin and tilted his face up so that they were nose to nose. Greg moved imperceptibly closer, his eyelids fluttering closed, and Mycroft felt soft lips brush against his. He drew in sharp breath through his nose, combed his fingers into dark brown hair, just beginning to grey at the temples, and pulled him closer, slipping a questing tongue into his mouth, tasting expensive European lager. A low moan sounded in Greg’s throat as he enthusiastically responded to Mycroft, he felt his cock beginning to take an interest in the proceedings, swelling and thickening in his boxers, he took a sly peek at Greg’s crotch and was happy to see that he was in a similar state. He was just about to take things in hand, when there was a sharp knock at the door and a voice called out, “Room service.”

  
“Fuck!” cried Greg as he leapt off Mycroft’s lap and made a feeble attempt to rearrange things down there, “One moment,” he called, and, brushing his fingers through his hair, he went to open the door. Jeremy carried in a large tray with two stainless steel plate covers. Mycroft pointed to the table next to him “Please bring them over here Jeremy, and thank you for your trouble,” he slipped the man another tenner. “That will be all.”

  
Greg heard the door close as he took the other chair, “Good timing. Any later and I don’t think I could have answered that door and maintained any dignity at all,” he lifted the covers, revealing a plate containing rustic looking artisan bread with steak sandwiched between the slices, an earthenware bowl with thick cut chips and a smaller bowl of mayonnaise was under the other. He picked up a chip, blew on it, and then dipped it into the creamy dressing. Taking a bite, he closed his eyes, “Nah, I’ve changed my mind, I would have opened the door for these chips even if I’d been stark bollock naked with a stiffy that would knock nails in, these are so bloody good Michael…here have a bite.” He dunked the chip again and waved it in front of Mycroft’s mouth, which opened enough to take a small bite. “Go on, finish it.” Greg encouraged.

  
“I don’t really partake in fried food. I have to watch my weight.” Mycroft said quietly.

  
“What nonsense! You’ve not got an ounce of fat on you, go on, one won’t harm you.” He waved the chip again, grinning. Mycroft sighed and let Greg feed him the remaining piece, it tasted so good. Perhaps, he thought, he could lapse a little tonight as long as he jumped back on the wagon tomorrow. Looking at his watch he noticed that it was 11.35, only twenty five minutes until the bells rang in the New Year. Greg was taking a bite of his sandwich and chewing enthusiastically, so he relaxed, picked up his half and sunk his teeth into the butter soaked bread and tender steak, heaven, just pure heaven.

  
As the clock ticked nearer to midnight, both men finished their food and Mycroft picked up the tray and left it outside the door. Greg stood by the window and looked out at the few revellers in the street below, “They’re going to be so hungover in the morning, you know what, this is the most sober I have been on a New Year’s Eve since I was seventeen. It’s a bit of a red letter day.”

  
“I’ve never much liked New Year. It’s considered sad to spend it alone, but when you’re in company it seem like its carte blanche for complete strangers to try and grope you with the pretext that it’s a New Year’s kiss, appalling.”

  
“You do know that we are complete strangers and that I intend to do far more than just grope you, yeah?”

  
“I am counting on it. Besides which, if we kiss on the stroke of midnight, as one year slides into the next, doesn’t that mean we have known each other two years, technically?” Mycroft said with a smile.

  
“I’ll go with that logic, no matter how skewed. Now come here, Big Ben won’t wait you know.”

  
As the chimes started, Mycroft slipped into Greg’s arms, bent his head slightly to accommodate their height differences, and kissed him, thoroughly, and with longing. Greg slid his hands down and cupped the other man’s buttocks, pulling him closer, so their hips aligned and the growing bulges in their trousers pressed against each other. Greg rocked a little, getting some friction just where it was needed, he buried his face in Mycroft’s shoulder, “Please can I take you to bed Michael?”

  
Mycroft nodded, feeling a little ashamed that he was using an alias, but knowing that he couldn’t risk his own very unique name. He took a step back and started to undress as Greg turned off the main light and left only a dim light shining from the bedside lamps, “I’ll just use the bathroom first, I won’t be long.”

  
Mycroft draped his clothes carefully over a chair, folded back the counterpane, and slipped between the freshly laundered sheets. Greg appeared minutes later, naked, silhouetted in the doorway, as he walked towards the bed he plucked a rose from the vase and laid it on the pillow next to him.

  
“I didn’t have you pegged as a romantic...”

  
Greg straddled Mycroft’s thighs, bent forward and placed a kiss on his chest, “I’m not, usually, it must be this room, it cries out for romance. Let me take you Michael, please? I want to be inside you. I’ll take it slow How long is it since…you know…”

  
“Since I was penetrated? About eight years, give or take. When I was at university. The captain of the boat team took me in the boat shed, it was a little frantic, and we feared we’d be discovered. He was…thorough…but I didn’t see him again after that. I think he was trying on homosexuality to see if it fitted, he’s married with two daughters now, I suspect that it didn’t…”

  
“Well he was an idiot, and his loss is my gain. Can I prepare you? I found some lube and condoms in the bathroom” Greg held the slim packets in his hand, “let me lie down next to you.”

  
Mycroft slid over to the other side of the bed, the rose slipped between the pillows, forgotten, Greg turned on his side, facing him, and dropped a kiss on his shoulder, “You just lie there princess, I’m going south…” He peppered kisses down Mycroft’s chest, pausing to pay attention to each nipple, only moving on when they were both standing pink, sensitive, and erect. His tongue swirled around Mycroft’s navel, dipping in only for a second, before continuing to follow the thin trail of auburn hair down to his flushed and leaking prick. Greg’s mouth watered as he watched a bead of pre come gather at the tip and slide down the glans, he stuck out his tongue and gathered the dewdrop into his mouth, relishing the salty taste. Above him Mycroft let out a strangled cry, and his hands clawed at the sheet. Greg smiled into his hip, he was so sensitive, this was going to be fun.

  
Greg moved again, gently pushed Mycroft's knees apart and settled between his legs. Mycroft felt soft kisses liberally pressed to his inner thighs, moving upwards towards his groin, Greg pressed his face into the crease at the top of those long, long, legs, and took a deep breath, inhaling the musky masculine scent. Mycroft felt a warm, wet, sensation as his balls were taken in turn into the other man’s mouth and sucked gently, he gripped the sheets, his nails tearing at the high count fabric as he felt Gregory part his buttocks and a slippery tongue lapped at his entrance.

  
“Oh Fuck! Gregory. Please…”

  
The licking stopped and Greg raised his head and looked at him quizzically, “Please what? Please lick me harder? Please stick your tongue into my arsehole and fuck me with it? Be more accurate Michael….” His head disappeared again and the lapping continued. The sphincter muscle began to relax and Greg furled his tongue and pushed it as deep as he could inside, tasting the other man's most intimate part. His own cock hung heavy and neglected between his thighs, leaking copiously onto the fresh linen. He struggled to open the packet of lube, but eventually succeeded, applied it liberally to his fingers, and, removing his tongue, slid one finger up to the second knuckle, meeting no resistance.

  
“Christ Michael, you’re so hot and silky smooth in there, I’m gonna work you open till you can take all of me, then I’m gonna take you so hard baby…” He slipped in another finger, stretching the muscle, sliding it in and out slowly, and flexing his fingers just so. Mycroft cried out again and a stream of pre come slid down his aching cock, gathering in a pool on his stomach. “Yeah, that hit the spot, didn’t it? Just one more finger Mike…let me in…relax…that’s right, come on beautiful…there we go…” Mycroft stretched around Greg’s fingers, and panted hard as he felt the burn of the muscles giving way. He felt open, and vulnerable, and used, it was wonderful.

  
There was a rustle of foil and Greg withdrew his fingers, he heard a slicking sound as Greg applied more lube and then felt the nudge of the head of Greg’s prick against his hole. “Open your eye’s Mike, look at me, look how much I want you.”

  
Mycroft did as he was asked, his eyelids fluttered open and he found himself looking into the deep brown eyes of the other man, poised above him. “Are you ready for me Mike? I need you to use your voice sweetheart.”

  
“Yes. Please Gregory, I’m ready…” his words dissolved into a long, drawn out moan as Greg buried his length into him in one slow, languorous, slide. “Ohhhhhh…God…Greg…”

  
Greg needed no further encouragement, he set a punishing pace, lifting one of Mycroft’s legs over his shoulder, and drawing his own knees up higher to get more purchase, he shifted position slightly and his cock brushed against Mycroft’s prostate. Mycroft arched off the bed and rammed his fist into his mouth to keep from howling, “That’s it babe, I’ve got you, just there, just there…” Greg’s fingers wrapped around his length and stroked in time to his thrusts, “Come on babe, come for me, that’s right, now Mike…Come for me now.” Mycroft felt his orgasm build at the base of his spine and then hit him like a force of nature, he spurted, once, hitting himself under the chin, twice, over his stomach and the third time coating Greg’s fist as he cried out, scratching his nails into his lovers back, sending ripples of pleasure along his tight passage, wringing Greg’s own climax out of him, as he thrust once more and filled the latex sheath with his own seed.

  
Greg collapsed onto Mycroft heavily, panting hard, beads of sweat dripping from his spiked fringe. “Christ Mike…that was…that was…Jesus…I think you’ve broken me…that’s it, I’m done…I’m officially dying right here, after the best sex of my life...it was a pleasure…it really was…”

  
Greg felt, before he heard Mycroft’s laughter bubble up from his chest and burst out, a sonorous chortle, surprising him. He raised his head and looked into the greyish blue eyes, “You might laugh young man, but this is serious…you’ve just fucked a member of Her Majesties police force to death, there will be consequences…in about eight hours, possibly nine…”  
Mycroft struggled to contain his laughter, “Really? I’ll look forward to that…and, in my defense, Officer, you were doing the fucking…so technically its suicide…”

  
Greg pulled himself up and out, leaving Mycroft feeling empty and a little sore, he gripped the condom tightly, and then removed it, carefully tying a knot and wrapping it in a handful of tissues, before dropping it into the bin. He noticed the streaks of come smeared on Mycroft’s torso, “Let me get you a facecloth and clean you up a bit.”

  
Mycroft heard Greg take a long piss, flush and then run the taps, a few minutes later he felt the bed dip and Greg knelt next to him, a warm soapy cloth wiping the excesses of their exertions away. A soft towel dried him, and then Greg padded back to the bathroom and dumped the dirty cloth in the sink, returning quickly to bed.

  
Mycroft turned onto his side, away from the other man, tensing slightly as he felt an arm sneak around his waist. “Cm’ere’ you.” Greg growled into his neck, as he spooned up behind him. He relaxed into his position as the small spoon, enjoying the warmth of another body against his back. “Sleep tight Michael.” Greg whispered, his words tickling his neck “G’night Gregory, sweet dreams,” he yawned, closing his eyes and letting the night take him under. Soon all that could be heard was distant shouting, as the bars and clubs began to empty, but by then they were both sound asleep and oblivious to the early morning commotion in the streets below.

 

Greg woke first, he was lying on his back the sheets tangled around his waist, he was far from cold though as the top half of his body was covered by a very warm, very masculine, body. In the night their positions had changed, he had rolled onto his back, and the other man had turned, missing the warmth, and attached himself like a vine, head tucked into his side, arm draped across his chest, leg slung over and tucked between his own, crotch, ah yes, morning wood, digging into his hip. His own cock twitched with interest, but he’d need a piss before any other activities took place. Craning his neck, so as not to disturb the other man, he managed to see the clock illuminated on the bedside table, it was a little after 7am.

  
“Michael…” he whispered, “Michael, I need you to move,” he tapped the man’s shoulder. There was a wriggle and Mycroft raised his head a little, “Who? What…ah…” recognition scurried across his features and he rolled onto his back, freeing Greg from his vice like grip, “Sorry…I…”

  
Greg stretched, threw back the covers, and sat up, “Don’t apologise, I like a cuddler,” he said smiling, before standing and walking towards the bathroom. Mycroft watched him go, shuffling up the bed, rearranging the pillows so he could sit propped up against the headboard. As he did, he discovered the rose that Greg had brought to bed the night before, lying pressed flat, peeping out from between their pillows, he picked it up carefully. There was little damage, he brought it up to his nose and inhaled, it was beautiful but held little scent. In an unprecedented show of sentiment, he took the rose, crossed over to where his jacket was draped over a chair, took out his wallet and tucked the flower behind the notes, bending the stem so that it fitted. He had just replaced the wallet and slid back into bed when Greg opened the bathroom door, “Hey, do you need to use the facilities? I’ll step out if you like.”

  
“Thank you Gregory, that’s very thoughtful, I won’t be a minute.” Greg stepped aside as Mycroft passed him, taking a good long look at the flawless pale skin of the taller man. He felt a longing to colour it with bites, scratches and bruises, just to leave his mark. A senseless show of ownership, if only for one night.

  
Mycroft appeared at the bathroom door a short while later and returned to the bed, he smelled of expensive soap and mint, obviously indulged in a whores bath and brushed his teeth, Greg realised that probably meant that he wouldn’t be adverse to round two before breakfast and a cheeky grin split his face before he returned to the bathroom to brush his own teeth.

  
Lying in their ruined bed, Mycroft looked over at Greg, he was back in the bathroom, but had left the door open, brushing his teeth at the sink and doing a poor job of watching him reflected in the mirror. They caught each other looking and Mycroft couldn’t help but wonder at those beautiful dark brown eyes, they held him captivated. Such warmth, such humour, such tenderness, the soul of the man displayed for all to see. His eyes roved over the rest of his body, on display just for him, his hair, standing in spikes, in desperate need of a comb, so soft, so tuggable, the grey just beginning to pepper through the dark strands, he would be fully grey in ten years, and what a glorious sight that would be. Strong shoulders and arms that showed signs of weight training, muscular and well defined. A broad back that narrowed to his hips and that magnificent arse. Shapely thighs that made his mouth water, athletic calves, he imagined that Greg played football or rugby to keep himself in good shape, all of this planted on solid feet. His limbs and torso tanned from summer holidays abroad, he was beautiful, and he was looking at him, his eyebrow raised, questioning. Shit.

  
“Like what you see?” Greg said, slinging the toothbrush into the sink and turning to face him, and there he was in all his glory, his cock standing proud of his stomach, his intentions clear.

  
“Yes, Gregory, very much. Please come back to bed, I do believe you promised me that there would be consequences for my behaviour last night, I broke you? Things do seem to have repaired themselves nicely though overnight…”

  
Greg grinned and launched himself at the bed, “Come here you,” he whipped back the covers revealing that the other man was also in a similar state of arousal, “Oh, you beauty, just look at you, hard and weeping for attention…and I’m just the man for the job…” and with that, he knelt down between Mycroft’s thighs and swallowed his cock down to the root. Mycroft cried out in surprise and pleasure, as Greg set a steady pace, bobbing his head up and down and trailing his tongue along the sensitive frenulum as he withdrew, hollowing his cheeks as he slid back down. He was known for his spectacular blow jobs, in training college there was a wager, if any of his conquests lasted longer than four minutes they got free drinks all night at the bar, needless to say, unless he was purposely taking his time, the drinks went unclaimed. One young man he’d picked up at a club called him a sucking tsunami and claimed he’d passed out when he’d come, a slight exaggeration, but he did have to sit down for ten minutes until his legs would hold him up again.

  
Greg’s fingers traced pretty patterns around Mycroft’s perineum, hovering over his twitching hole, slipping just the tip of his finger inside. It was still pink and puffy from the night before and Greg didn’t want to cause any unnecessary discomfort, just to tease and enhance the sensation. He took Mycroft in deeper and swallowed around his length, delighting in the sobbing sounds issuing from the other man. He watched as Mycroft’s balls drew up tighter, a hand tugged his hair in warning, and the sobs became a warning cry, “Fuck...Gregory…I’m going to…” and his mouth was flooded with a salty, bitter fluid as Mycroft pulsed down his eager throat. He swallowed quickly and reduced his movements to gentle kitten licks, sweeping up any remaining seed with his tongue. Even this became too much eventually and Mycroft helpfully pulled his head away when things became too sensitive.

  
“Fuck Gregory...Give me a minute and I’ll return the favour…”

  
Greg smiled and gripped himself tight around the base of his cock, he was so close, watching Michael thrash around beneath him was such a turn on that he’d almost spent himself on the sheets untouched. “It’s ok, take your time, I can wait.”

  
Mycroft’s breathing slowed and he leant down and dragged Greg into his arms and kissed him, tasting his release on the other man’s tongue. They lay like this until Greg couldn’t ignore his throbbing prick any longer, he reached down and gave himself a couple of quick tugs, Mycroft quickly stayed his hand and pinned him to the mattress, “Oh no, Gregory, it’s my turn now. Tell me what you want…and keep telling me…in explicit detail…”

  
Greg gasped as Mycroft shifted and he felt him breathing against his cock, “Come on Gregory, if you don’t tell me what you want then I can’t help you.”

  
“Take me in your mouth…that’s right…God…that’s good.” Greg panted out, “Move your lips slowly up and down the shaft, pay attention to the glans…more tongue…Oh God…keep doing that…yes…”

  
He gripped the sheets to stop himself grabbing the other man’s hair and thrusting into his mouth, but, moments later, he felt fingers untangling the cotton from his grasp, taking his hands an placing them on Mycroft’s bobbing head, as he threaded them through the auburn locks and pulled lightly, he heard the other man moan, it vibrated around his cock, sending shivers up his spine. “Jesus Mike, you’re fucking good at this.”

  
The other man slipped his mouth off his cock and looked up into his eyes, “Tell me, Officer…” Greg’s own eyes slammed shut as he bucked up, thrusting between Mycroft’s lips and pressing hard into his soft palate, he did not gag, just swallowed around him and traced his thick vein with his tongue. Greg held his head in position and began to thrust deeply, “Take it, Mike…come on…fuck…” He pulled back a little to let Mycroft catch his breath, before plundering his mouth again. “Finger me…I’m close…” He felt the tip of one elegant finger breach his hole and he cried out, one final thrust burying himself deep in Mycroft’s throat as he reached an earthshattering climax. “Fuck! Mike…I’m coming!”

  
Mycroft let Greg’s penis slip from his mouth and he looked up the length of the man prostrate before him. Greg was panting rapidly, one arm sung across his eyes, the other rigid, hand still gripping tight to Mycroft’s hair. His chest was flushed pink from orgasm, and rising up and down with each gulp of air. Sweat bloomed across his flat stomach, giving it a delicious wet sheen that Mycroft yearned to lick. Giving in to his desires, he crouched low over the other man and trailed his tongue from his pubic bone to his throat, on reaching that hollow, he licked and sucked along the collar bone, leaving purpling marks that would last for days, until he finally reached Greg’s mouth, stealing a deep, lingering kiss.

  
When the parted, Greg opened his caramel brown eyes and stared deeply into Mycroft’s icy blue, “Can I keep you angel?” he asked, only half joking. Mycroft blushed at the sentiment, “No. One night offer only. I don’t do relationships. They don’t…they don’t…fit with my lifestyle.” Greg frowned, “Really? I’m no trouble. Housetrained, good job, I can cook, I give a good massage and I’m told I give the best blow jobs in London…though I think I’ve got some competition now…”

  
Mycroft looked at him, he was tempted, so tempted, he smiled, a smile tinged with sadness, “No, really. I’ve just been promoted and my job takes up all my time, and any spare time I do have is taken up keeping my younger brother off the streets…it wouldn’t work…you’d grow to resent me…and…well…I couldn’t bear that…it’s for the best.”

  
“Can’t blame a man for trying though, eh? Let’s have a shower, they’ll be here with breakfast soon, then I’ll piss off out of your life and you’ll just be a happy memory in mine.”

  
“That sounds eminently more sensible, I won’t forget this either Gregory, it has been safely stored and will no doubt be taken out and enjoyed in years to come.”

  
They showered and ate their breakfast in companionable silence, sharing the newspaper, completing the crossword together. Just before noon Greg slipped on his jacket, and smoothed out the creases, he watched as Mycroft did the same, patting his pocket to check for his wallet. They walked down to reception, handed in the key, and strode out of the hotel together, pausing on the pavement in the cold, bright, sunshine.

  
“Happy New Year Mike.” Greg said pressing gentle kiss onto the other man’s cheek. Mycroft leaned into the kiss, inhaling deeply, infusing his memories with the scent of expensive luxury shower gel, would he ever use any other brand now? Greg pushed his hands into his pockets and nodded in the direction of the tube, “Well, I’m this way, it was…it was…something else Mike…au revoir.”

  
Mycroft stood, watching the man walk away, never pausing, never faltering in his step. As Greg moved out of earshot he whispered, “Its Mycroft. Mycroft Holmes, you beautiful, beautiful man…” before turning in the opposite direction and walking, he knew not where, just away.

 

 

Ten years later

  
“Mycroft. To what do I owe the pleasure?” his brother’s voice cut shrilly through the quietness of the musty room.

  
“Sherlock, always a delight to see you too. I see you have outdone yourself this time, Baker Street, better than the squalid little hovel you called home in Montague Street, although I fear that the rent might be a little high for you to manage on your meagre income…”

  
“I have a flat mate in mind. An ex-army doctor, friend of Mike Stamford at Bart’s. We are meeting later, after I’ve finished moving my things.”

  
“A little premature, don’t you think Brother? How long do you think he will last with your unsavoury…habits…?”

  
Sherlock flinched, “Mycroft, I’m clean. Have been for over twelve months…Lestr…”

  
“Oi. Sherlock. You in?” A voice echoed up the stairs.

  
“Ah…speak of the devil…Yes, come up, I take it you want my help with these ‘suicides’.”

  
There was a clattering of footsteps up the stairs, the door was pushed open and a figure stood, one hand leaning against the door frame, the other clutching a large brown envelope. “Christ Sherlock, the wallpaper alone is enough to set off a migraine…”

  
Mycroft looked up, there was something familiar about that voice, he was flooded with sudden recognition and let out a gasp.

  
“Michael?” Greg exhaled, staring at the tall figure who was leaning on his folded umbrella, a shocked expression etched all over his face.

  
Sherlock looked at Greg, “Nope.” He said popping the ‘P’ loudly, he turned towards his brother, “Ah…I see from your expression that you have already met my pet detective…a few years ago, judging from your old habit of using common a garden names as aliases…I’ll leave you to it…please make sure you’ve vacated the premises by the time I bring Dr. Watson over to view his new flat...and don’t disturb anything. Gooday Lestrade, MyCROFT…”

  
Sherlock disappeared in a swirling of coat and slamming of doors. The two men stared at each other.

  
“You? Micha…Mycroft?”

  
“You…” Mycroft’s hand automatically strayed to his wallet. Sealed in small cream envelope that was only opened on one special occasion every year, tucked safely out of sight behind his security pass, lay the tattered remains of a single red rose…

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by the song of the same title by Joan Baez. 
> 
> How long since I've spent a whole night in a twin bed with a stranger?  
> His warm arms all around me  
> How long since I've gazed in the dark eyes that melted my soul down  
> To a place where it longs to be?  
> All of your history has little to do with your face  
> You're mainly a mystery with violins filling in space  
> You stood in the nude by the mirror and picked out a rose  
> From the bouquet in our hotel  
> And lay down beside me again and I watched the rose  
> On the pillow as it fell  
> I sank and I slept in a twilight with only one care  
> To know that when day broke and I woke that you'd still be there  
> You'd still be there  
> The hours for once they passed slowly, unendingly by  
> Like a sweet breeze on a field  
> Your gentleness came down upon me and I guess I thanked you  
> When you caused me to yield  
> We spoke not a sentence, took not a footstep beyond  
> Our two days together which seemingly soon would be gone  
> Soon would be gone  
> Don't tell me of love everlasting and other sad dreams  
> I don't want to hear  
> Just tell me of passionate strangers who rescue each other  
> From a lifetime of cares  
> 'Cause if love means forever expecting nothing returned  
> Then I hope I'll be given another whole lifetime to learn


End file.
